Bandits These Days Really Just Have No Sense of Common Decency
“It’s Odin, actually,” Odin told Tommy, cleaning up the cups from his table, trying to decide if he could hold all of them so he didn’t have to come back. He could probably pick them all up, but he was less sure about them all getting to the sink, so he only took one in each hand.
Tommy blinked, peering at Odin as if he’d never seen him or his hair before. “You sure? I was there when they named you.”
Odin shrugged. “So was I. Goodnight.” Tonight was the night the bandits were going to burn Tommy’s house down, so Odin should probably be nicer to him, but he didn’t really want to. Plus, it was really late and nobody had come running to say anyone’s house was on fire.
Tommy nodded, plodded up the stairs. Odin took the glasses into the kitchen, then took two more trips to get all the rest of the glasses. He carefully washed them, put them away, then locked the kitchen, then put all the lamps out, remembering for once to keep his small hand lamp lit so he could find his way to the stairs without tripping over the broom that was somehow always on a different step.
One of the rooms in the inn was Odin’s to use on the nights when he had to stay late, so that he didn’t have to walk home by himself in the cold and dark. The door wasn’t locked because Pierre was also sleeping there, having helped Odin and Uncle Oscar wait tables for a while earlier, since half the town had been here.
Pierre wasn’t actually there when Odin went into the room, which was probably because he’d fucked off to bother someone or go pee or both, so Odin just set the lamp down on the bedside table and started taking off his clothes. He was so tired, he was looking forward to sleeping like whatever the opposite of a baby was, since babies actually couldn’t sleep for shit.
As soon as he had his pants off, though, his body recognized that as a horny activity and helpfully gave him a boner. So Odin pushed his smallclothes off too and lay back in the bed, pushing the messed-up blankets aside.
Naturally, as he started jerking off, he was thinking about Murph and especially about Murph on his knees the other day with Odin’s cum on his face. He’d looked really good like that. Even better than he looked normally, which was harder than Odin’s dick, because Murph was already the kind of hot that they made statues and paintings and church ceilings out of. But with cum on his face? Odin had found his religion.
Murph hadn’t yet paid him back but they’d hung out a few times and he smiled sometimes and once he’d sort of looked like he was looking near Odin’s dick, so Odin was pretty sure he’d been thinking about it, too. Maybe even thinking about it while touching his dick like Odin was.
He was just down the hall, Odin thought. His room was only a few rooms over and Odin could theoretically just go over there and offer to do this with him. Well, he could put pants on and do that. But maybe showing up at his door naked would be hornier? He could be all “oh, I have this not-so-little problem I was hoping you could help me with” and Murph could be all “okay but this time it’s going in my mouth so your face is the only one that ends up messy” and it would be so good, holy shit it would be so good.
It would be so good that Odin came thinking about it, making a big mess all over his chest, crap. It was okay. He reached down for his smallclothes to clean up with, then lay back, hand still on his dick. He’d jerk off again for real in a few minutes, but in the meantime, he was going to think more about how he’d go over and seduce Murph into having sex with him.
Once Murph had cum on his face like he’d promised to, Odin would ask him to lick it off. And then they could kiss. And then they’d fall on the bed and Odin would say something sexy like “you know, we’re already here, it’d be a shame to waste a good bed” and Murph would agree and say “let me show you what we do with beds where I’m from” and then they’d have sex all night and Odin was already jerking off again even if he was sensitive from having just cum, shit.
There was a bang from downstairs and Odin sat up. Who was banging downstairs? Nobody was downstairs.
Somebody was downstairs.
Odin got out of bed and pulled his pants on, heading for the door. He figured he’d go shirtless like a hero who’d been woken up from sleep, even though it was probably just Uncle Oscar making sure he’d locked up, and making way too much noise while showing him way too little trust. Unfortunately for Odin’s plans to go shirtless, he was wearing a shirt, which he only noticed when he let go of his pants and had them fall down, because they were a shirt.
Even more unfortunately, Odin only noticed that once he was halfway down the stairs, so that sucked. “Hello?” he called out, pulling his shirt back up and knotting it around his waist like the pants equivalent of an awesome flowy cloak, but backwards. “Who’s there?”
“Shit,” someone said, audibly, and it definitely wasn’t Uncle Oscar. There was a cold breeze. The front door was open.
At the bottom of the stairs, Odin grabbed the broom. “Listen,” he said. The voice had sounded pretty young. “Go home and I won’t tell your parents you broke in.” He should have brought the lamp with him, why hadn’t he done that? There was a little bit of light from the embers in the hearth, but that was it.
It was enough to see that there were at least three more people in the inn than there should be. Odin clutched the broom tighter. “Everyone upstairs heard you break in,” he added. “They’re all going to be down in a minute.” He hoped Pierre didn’t come down. It looked like they were trying to get into the kitchen, which was weird. Why break in if they weren’t after alcohol, which was behind the counter, or the lockbox, which was upstairs?
A fourth form that Odin hadn’t seen appeared right in front of him and Odin freaked out a bit and hit it with the broom. “Ow, fuck!” said another young voice. “Fuck you!”
“Sorry,” Odin said. “Sorry, but you freaked me the fuck out and…” as he was saying that, the intruder kicked him in the balls. “Ow!” He fell over in pain, clutching himself through his shirt’s headhole. “Ow, that was, ow.”
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” one of them said, and a lot of footfalls were hurrying past Odin, disappearing out into the night. One of them stopped, crouched by him, stepping on his shoulder to keep him down.
“You listen good,” said a boy’s voice. He couldn’t be older than Odin. “The Brotherhood of the Sickle doesn’t forget. You’re on our list now, Broom Boy. Don’t get in our way next time or else.”
He stood, and Odin, scared to death, looked up at him. He couldn’t see anything, just a form in the dark, raising its foot, and oh, shi—